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emily mikkelsen Apr 2017
between the concrete river
& the park where the bums share a bottle
wrapped in a brown paper sack,

there is a cul-de-sac of plastic houses
holding hands & sharing manicured lawns
wooden cars that don't even make any smoke
drive down gray asphalt streets.

fathers that tell mothers they have jobs
wear down street corners sharing beers with the bums,
like they already are one.

all these paper families rubbing shoulders
until everyone has paper cuts.
going home to dinner around a table full of paper love.

suburbia is flimsy
paper towns shining white
smiling neighbors & shared lawns
paper people slowly falling apart.

couples with their tongues down each other's throats,
midnight in supermarket parking lots
dribbling beer in the backseat
they bought off the bums.  

they say,
I love you, I love you, I love you.
until she leaves for a paper husband
& he leaves for a paper wife.

now they live on two separate cul-de-sacs
with the same cutout love,
as the parents they despised.

& when they have kids one day
they will tell them
never kiss before driving,
never befriend bums,
or guzzle cheap beer in backseats,
or on park swings.
& never settle for a paper husband
or a paper wife.


remembering the love
that was flimsy,
but never paper.

100,000 miles away from where they grew up
& 3,000 miles away from each other
3 kids each & plastic houses
rubbing shoulders & sharing lawns

living in a paper thin suberbia
chafing under their paper love.
inspired by "Paper Towns" by John Green
Joanne Fuda Apr 2013
"Pardon Me" complaining at the state of my garden.. With grace she said "Nothing says derelict like roses and paper lanterns"
In Americans,
nothing
Trumps emotion
like the Rock?
Who saw Dwayne Johnson's response to the DNC in Ballers this season?
Kato Locke Feb 2017
Seemingly small and insignificant,
It sits atop my finger, like a bird perched on a branch.
A symbol of great power,
Yet shrunken and frail as paper.
Its hidden beauty rivals those of
Aphrodite.
My love for it swells
Like a well after a heavy rain.
Oh, this paper crown,
Its simple beauty
Is a gold as pure as any other.
Its paleness is greater than snow,
Its weight light, but heavier than
the empire it represents.
This paper crown, worthy of a Queen.
This was written for a class project
jane taylor Apr 2016
shadows casting forward
pastel edges
of water colored nebulous scenes
once known

i fuse with deja vu
in its feather-like fringe
i beg for the meaning
of history reliving

perhaps it’s a maze
tho’ previously scripted
funhouse mirrors silently mock
our own carnival

or is it a wink?
the north star is nodding
a slight innuendo
we’re not lost at sea

perchance it’s a hint
it is all an illusion
a glitch in the matrix
the black cat walks by

i grasp for the answer
and peer at the ghostly
parchment paper dream
as it dissolves to thin air

©2018janetaylor
Darren Feb 2016
I came across some paper,
It was crumpled, torn and frayed,
Stained with ink and tears,
A tormented artist played,

Their heavy heart and troubled mind,
Had written words so true,
A hidden path into their world,
A reason for their blues,


Inspired by your written words,
I penned one of my own,
To tell you not to worry,
That you will never be alone,


My heavy heart lifted with the words I wrote,
Flowing without effort,
Upon this tear stained note,

I put this note into the bin,
And I slowly walked away,
To hide the emotion of my soul,
Of where this artist played.
Elena Clair Dec 2013
Make me a paper flower
Cut and folded perfectly
Choose your favorite color
So part of your heart will be with me

Arrange a pretty bouquet
Don't regret that you can't buy them from the store
I don't need ones which wither away
I know that your heart (and the paper flowers)
Mean so much more
kainat rasheed Apr 2018
do these emotions remain the same on paper ?
Shea Feb 27
You thought I was a bird,
But I am just a paper bag.
It's silly all the thought that goes into writing poetry.
The poems that count are the ones which require no thought at all.
when you asked me to write you a poem, gave me a deadline
I knew I would fail.  Had failed.
Now.
The words on this paper will not bring you back
they won't wage wars in the name of God or love
won't rise up off the paper when all that's needed is an embrace.
These words are no more than lead on paper
strained attempts at funneling thoughts
distilled down to something somewhat legible
no more tangible then words spoken aloud.
dust on the wind so to speak,
fully capable of bringing tear to eye despite their inanimate position.
I need a drink, the burn of fire water to cleanse my soul
Poor me another, cause I can still see  the floor
Desmond the poet Aug 2018
In the beginning there was a reader, poet, pen and paper.
Like an artist towards a stage, a
Poet approached the paper for freedom of expression.
The poet had secrets he couldn’t trust anyone to keep.
The feelings and secrets were so ocean deep.

The poet saw bias and hypocritical verdicts through reader’s eyes.
The poet trusted the paper and pen instead of readers.
Readers know not the poet’s pain, misery, and happiness.
Only God knows the poet's expression via a pen on paper.

Readers see the pen’s ink on paper.
They don’t see tear’s marked on the poet’s face.
Neither do they see the smile on the poet’s face.
The pen and paper is just the poet’s podium for freedom of expression.
Neither pen nor paper however knows the depth of a poet’s feelings.
This is just to say there's a lot more to poet than what the readers see.
kainat rasheed Apr 2018
do these emotions remain the same on paper ?
theblndskr Aug 2015
Let me tell you the story of my death:

Carving words on the bark of a tree
A poem that means life to me.
Glows through night, my soul delights!

        "Exist beyond my death, oh please...
            So I could live in bliss at least."


But they cut the tree, so mindlessly
Illegally. ****, selfishly!
In chainsaw, I was murdered.

        A massacre,
      ... a massacre of my every being!!


I'm a ghost that forgot, the best in me
Now writes relentlessly
To relive the words, once killed in greed
I found the "
papers*", the poems you lead...

Then before me, is some piece of me
they killed.

I died a hero,
Readers who found their hearts, in death of the writers. Is but ONE.
Chrissy Jul 2017
Paper soulmates
Drawn together by fate
Glued into each other's lives persistently
As we are paper soulmates we are prone wear and tear
Torn paper is truly unfixable
You can only try to sellotape together what has been torn apart
Scrunched paper can't truly be smoothed out again,
there is still going to be evidence of past experience
Our story Inked onto the pages of our body
Stained by water, the ink smudges off of us
Our stories ??
unreadable
Masuda Khan Juti Apr 2017
She took two photos of these elephant paper weights. He observed. He said something about how finely detailed they were. They smiled. He had grey eyes. “Where you from?”
“What brings you here?”
“Gap year?”
So many question. Two souls hungry to know more about the other.
“The south is really nice”
“Yeah listening closely, you do have a slight Italian accent! ”
They talked.
She pointed back at the elephants. “They’re for instagram.” She really hoped he was on Instagram.
“You on Instagram?”
He curled his lips. Regret it seemed.
“Well I’m on Facebook. But I also write letters.”
She said something like she thought that was cool or that that was awesome.  It wasn’t clear for her either. All she  was thinking sadly was that she couldn’t give him her address! They’d just met!
Her cousin interrupted. They were going to get icecream. She hastily said bye. It all happened so quick. She blurted out that she wished he had a great life ahead. He nodded. She wrinkled her nose. She left. He stood there. And like the movies she looked back. But as real life is not in slow motion, the last smile she gave was short and it didn’t give her time to change her mind. And maybe stay back. Not have icecream.

That she is I.

That he is that boy

I met at the shop

where they sell...

elephant paper weights.
I'LL NEVER EVER FORGIVE MYSELF FOR NOT HAVING GIVEN HIM MY ADDRESS
The uniVerse Jun 2016
I could tell you I loved you a hundred times a day
but you would never know for sure
so once again you would ask me to say
how much I loved you more.

Can you ever accept these words as a promise?
- that if you left my heart would miss
it missed a beat when our hearts collided
and hasn't yet subsided
time stood still when our eyes first met
and to this day it hasn't reset
the stupid grin across my face
has not once lost its place.

But like I say these are only words
held together by a piece of paper
but the very idea seems absurd
that I could ever hate her.
https://www.instagram.com/p/B0T4pcPHTHr/
I crave paper
I long for its smooth space
Open fields of hidden words
Carriers of life
Forever anticipating the touch of a hand
The caress of a pen
Judging not content
nor the needy desire to speak
through silence
Nassif Younes Feb 2016
Yeah.
That’s it.
Give it to me.
Oh yeah.
Just like that.
Wait.
What?
No!

What happened?
Are you getting nervous?
Self-conscious?
Do I look like a ******* mirror?
You’re going too slow
And it’s giving my stomach time
To stretch.
You’ll never be done at this rate.
You’re creating a monster
And you won’t like me
When I’m like that.
You’d better give me something soon
Or else
I’m going to scare all the women out of your bed
From under
Your bed.

Oh, come on,
Is that the best you’ve got?
Are you a skylight
In a blind man’s house?
Do you live in a universe with padded walls?
You have to let go.
Now.
You have to
Let your mind lose you.
If that pencil lasts long enough for you
To memorise the serial number on its side,
You’re done.
If you aren’t getting caught in a web
Of sharpenings
When you try to stretch your legs
You’re done.

It’s just the two of us now.
My lines are the bars
Of your empty cage
And whether or not there’s light in between
Is entirely up to you.
You think everything you say will be wrong
But there’s only one way to know
And we both know
That there is nothing more wrong
Than doing nothing.
I will make that perfectly clear to you.
If you do nothing
I will stare at you with my blank, blinding white
Look of symmetrical disapproval
Until your eyes burn out
And all you can think to do
In your helpless, hapless malaise
Will be to strike a match
And burn me black
Making sure we both hit the dirt
At the same time.

Now,
We don’t want that, do we?
Good.
So come on, my darling
Let’s go somewhere quiet
And you give me that
Rough and careless touch
You know I love the most.

I may never laugh
And I may never cry
But you will.
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